Montana is a HUGE stage! While traveling along in a surreal time warp, I happened upon Lewis & Clark Historic State Park, which includes the incredible limestone caverns (which they never saw, but are named in their honor). It was just a lucky break for me, because I did not eve know of the caverns' existence. It was a 4-mile hike, altogether. But only 2 miles were actually INSIDE the caverns. And what a mysterious, spooky, and exhilarating trek! I really pushed the edge of my own claustrophobia. Many of the passages were quite narrow and required stooping over while descending into slippery, wet, unknown regions, home to numerous bats, which swirled around and squeaked intermittently. One area actually had a naturally created polished limestone "slide", down into a darkness I cannot hardly breathe through. This was a guided tour, and the guide was very good at telling us what to expect as we made our decent. But still...
It was a magnificent experience, and a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me. Never again! But I'm so glad I did it. Here and there the caverns were lit for safety at the most treacherous places. There were narrow, steep stairways carved out of stone back in the 30's, and overhangs that were sometimes only 4' high for long stretches. I never felt like I would become stuck because the tour guide was bigger around, so I just tried to follow closely behind him and his precious little flashlight! At one point, we all gathered in the "Cathedral Room" where we were treated to a magnificent display of every kind of formation and bizarre color, plus a pure, crystal pond! We were also treated to an accidental (and thankfully, brief) loss of electricity that coincided with his flashlight loosing its charge. Oh boy! I felt my panic rise and I could barely control my urge to emit staccato screams, in search of something safe to hang onto. I involuntarily clutched like a bat onto the arm of the man standing next to me. Momentarily the dim lighting returned and I quickly saw that I was joined by several other bat people, clinging and cowering. The tour guide apologized but I could tell this was not a singular occurrence. Despite all the chills and fears that kept me outfitted in gooseflesh, I am so glad I made the journey. I've never seen anything like it!
Afterward, reaching the dry, warm air, I felt delivered and proud of myself for facing my fears and hanging in there. I drove through the gorgeous canyon that houses the caverns until I found a hiking trailhead, just right for Jubilee and I. The sign promised a beaver pond in 2.5 miles. So we trekked forward. I only noticed the time when I was about 15 minutes in: 5:15pm. OOOPS. That pretty much allowed about 2.5 hours for a 5-mile hike before dusk, and scary animals. It seemed a relatively "flat" trail, so I figured it would be a cakewalk.
Of course, it wasn't, and a big slice of chocolate cake at the end would have been terrific! It got quite hilly, but never treacherous, and we just kept our pace, hoping to find the beaver ponds. I got as far as any sense would allow, but stopped when we reached a bridge over a creek that surely must spill into a pond somewhere. But we never found a pond. Jubilee didn't care. She was happy to just splash in the creek to fetch the sticks I robotically tossed for her. After she cooled down we headed back, and I kept vigil for all trail markers, not wanting a repeat of my scary experience a few weeks ago in another state park. For some reason, I felt tireless. I even ran some of the segments to make better time. I fixed Jubilee's reel to my belt and she was ahead of me the entire way!
We reached the trailhead at 7:30, like clockwork, just as the sun was going down. A cool breeze and a gallon of cold water welcomed us home to the Motherload. We drove about 30 miles to Butte, MT, and found a great little spot to camp next to a fine and friendly family. All is well. Jubilee has passed out on my stretched-out map, and she looks positively taxidermied. I'll wait until tomorrow to study the map.
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